To her right, a second door slanted away at an angle and joined another sturdy wooden partition, cutting off the corner between the hallway and the external wall. Inside was the bathroom: a tiny corner power shower, a sink and a white toilet, all of which mercifully seemed clean – in fact, it seemed a lot more modern than the rest of the house – but was still covered with a film of dust.

Closing the bathroom door again, Anna turned round and crossed the floor in something of a daze. It took less than six paces for her to fetch up against the old Belfast sink of her new ‘kitchen’. Above it was the only window in the entire building that looked out towards the sea. It was barely bigger than a 10x8 photo frame, with small shutters that were presumably meant to guard against wave damage. Anna gripped the cold porcelain, feeling the grit of more dust beneath her fingers, and looked out at the green-grey waves.

‘Oh God,’ Anna muttered. ‘What have I done?’

Come on now, my girl, said a familiar voice in her head. Don’t write it off yet.

Her eyes filled with tears. Dad.

It was what he’d said to her on the day he’d helped move her into her digs for her first job out of catering college. That was almost twenty years ago now, but still remained vivid in Anna’s memory. They had arrived to find, not her dream of an airy apartment that looked out into the bustle of London, but a hot, cramped attic room stuck right at the top of the West End hotel. The only window was an ancient skylight that she could barely reach even standing on a chair. The room came free with the job, though, which Anna had thought would be perfect. Her dad hadn’t really wanted her to take it, she’d known that – but she’d already been following Geoff, even then.

‘Do your own thing, darling,’ he’d said, when she’d told him about the commis chef position in the kitchen. ‘Don’t choose this job because he’ll be there. What about that place in Lancaster, that chef who told you he’d have something good for you when he opened? It sounded like you’d be doing more than scrubbing carrots all day if you went there.’

‘But it’s London, Dad,’ she’d argued. ‘Geoff says—’

‘Anna, I don’t care what Geoff says. Last month he was a student, same as you. Why should he know any better?’

‘He’s so talented,’ Anna remembered saying. ‘He’s going to be a star. I know he is.’

‘And what about you, Anna?’ he’d asked her. ‘When are you going to get to shine?’

Anna had rolled her eyes. ‘Winning some little competition doesn’t make me the next big thing, Dad,’ she’d said.